


Introductions

by Familiae



Series: Crimes Against Decency [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood As Lube, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cat Ears, Child Murder, Emotional Manipulation, Human Experimentation, M/M, Massage, Murder, Organized Crime, Organs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Snakes, Supernatural Elements, Underage Kissing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-01-25 17:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Familiae/pseuds/Familiae
Series: Crimes Against Decency [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538989





	1. Hide and Seek

The first real interaction he had with the boy was upon stumbling in the hallway one afternoon. The sun was beating its last hot rays upon the house; relentless in its unknown objective and setting elongated dark shadows along the usually welcoming hallway, the curtains having been thrown completely open just mere hours ago to let in the fleeting light. Markus had just turned a corner, steps slow and unhurried, when he had to swerve sharply away before he stumbled upon the smaller entity.

Where he had been heading, Markus could not recall—it only took a flash of those unsettling bright green eyes for his mind to suddenly blank. The effect was not due only to their startling color, however, but rather to the fact that as the boy’s eyes met with his own, his face reflected a sudden flash of wild fear.

Once the expression and its implications registered in Markus’ weary brain, he found himself as equally startled as the child. It was almost comical, that a child should present fear towards him when so many other dangers lurked just around the corner. Instinct, a fretful desire, had his hand reaching forward, as if to cradle the child in his arms, to comfort him and assure him that there was nothing to fear; a sudden ache in his chest. He almost followed through with it. _Almost_. But then Markus recalled where he was and the thoughts were hastily snuffed.

_Be on your guard._

This was no mere child after all.

“You’re... Markus right?”

The voice was boyish and high, the eyes merely curious, regarding him in that way that made you feel unrobed; Markus has noticed that the first time he had seen the boy, sitting on Izaac’s lap, quiet and watchful. This one had a manner about him that was reminiscent of a reptile; studying its prey through cold calculating eyes. It had reminded Markus of Izaac himself when he had first noticed it.

Izaac could not pull that little innocent smile with such ease, however.

“Yes.”

His answer prompted a curious head tilt from the boy, the smile widened, “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

“No,” lying would hardly be plausible.

The child regarded him through those bright green eyes for a moment longer before he gave a single jerky nod—no other clarification was provided. 

For a moment Markus was unsure of what to do. His urge was to simply continue walking—pretend he hadn’t seen the boy again. If anyone asked he could always have pretended ignorance, but something else held him rooted in place. An uneasy feeling made the hairs on the back of his neck rise—he simply did not trust to turn his back on the child.

The boy was wearing a large jacket that hung loose over his shoulders, jeans, and was utterly barefoot; no sight of sandals or even socks in sight. The jacket was shaped oddly, however. Almost making the boy look like he had a hunch upon his shoulders—for a moment, he even thought that maybe he _had_ remembered the boy wrong, maybe...

“What time is it?”

The question came as a surprise. Markus was slow to react, a hand tentatively reaching for the pockets of his hoodie where he hesitated. Izaac had given him a phone, he knew. A simple plastic design which he suspected was traced to hell and back. Usually, he carried it on him to humor Izaac, but today... today he could only recall the image of the cell phone resting on his bedside table. Its battery, empty.

He shook his head, “Dunno.”

His answer seemed to amuse the boy. A smile reappeared on the child’s face, and he regarded Markus carefully. He nodded once, twice, and turned to face away from Markus.

“How many blonds are in the house?”

“A few,” Markus answered the question at length, mistrusting of what the boy could be scheming.

“Male?”

Markus shrugged.

“Anyone who has a cat?”

_Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty._

Markus’ mouth felt dry, a hand uneasily went to push back the stray hairs from his face. He noted that the child was outright grinning at him.

“Sound like anyone you know?”

Markus’ patience drained; something that might have been fear shot up his spine making his unease grow. 

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“Thirty seconds,” he breathed, “if you come with me I’ll tell you my name again.”

The logic made Markus’ head spin. _Ashlin. Thirty-seconds. Name_. He failed to see how they connected.

“Twenty-five.”

For all Markus knew, the child was simply tricking him, about to laugh it off as soon as Markus followed along with the mood, but the sense of urgency he could see in the line of the boy’s spine, the way he seemed to hop from foot to foot, made his thoughts fail and stall. They seemed much too genuine. The boy truly believed that their time was short. 

The child seemed to notice how he hovered over his own indecision, because his hand was wrapping around Markus’ wrist, and he yanked at Markus with surprising strength. The little fingers bit into his flesh cruelly, and the child even managed to drag him a few steps before Markus regained his wits and started working his legs to follow the child’s lead.

“Where—?”

“Quiet!”

The irony of being told to be silent struck him as comical; he almost spun a retort the child’s way, but was forced to bite his tongue as his arm was yanked again once more. The boy stood in front of an unimpressive wooden door. Most of the doors that were not in use were simply inaccessible, and he was sure this was once such door. However, the child merely reached forward, moved much too quickly for Markus to notice what he had done, and just like that the door was sliding silently open.

“C’mon,” was all he said before he was yanking Markus inside.

The locked room turned out to be nothing more than a supply closet. The small cramped room was dark and full of a myriad of cleaning instruments—Markus felt his foot becoming tangled in what he suspected to be a vaccum’s cable. Carefully, he lifted his foot, pushing the cable aside and turned to look up, searching for the child.

Unsurprisingly, the boy was too busy pushing the door closed, turning to Markus with a little smile.

“Stay silent, OK?”

Markus had little choice but to nod—not that it mattered, the child was already turning away from him, eyes glued to the door. Markus held his breath, the boy seemed to tilt his head to the side as if trying to catch a distant sound. Subconsciously, Markus found himself doing it as well.

Footsteps.

They were slow deliberate footsteps; the easy pace of someone that did not have a single care in the world. When the child noticed Markus’ attentiveness, he gestured for Markus to draw closer with a single finger, still grinning that amused grin. Markus was reluctant to close the distance between the child and himself, but his feet would not obey. Curiosity propelled him forward, trying to avoid touching the child, but drawing closer nonetheless.

From the small gap the door formed he could hear something—muffled words that drew closer and louder. Their meaning became clearer, and when it did Markus stumbled away from the door, nearly tripping over a fallen mop.

“Here kitty, kitty, kitty. Here kitty, kitty, kitty.”

The child’s grin grew larger, but even he had the wisdom to know to slowly step away from the door, eyes flicking from the small opening to where Markus stood, frozen.

That’s when Markus noticed that there were soft whimpers coming from the small gap in the door, and the sound of something dragging. Ashlin’s lilting voice stopped suddenly, grunting, cursing under his breath, followed by a thud and a sharp inhale and sob. Markus felt something like panic rise—it wasn’t just curiosity that had his eyes glued to the door, but the half-suicidal thought that he should go out there and try to help. That he should not be rooted by fear and instead barge forward and face Ashlin. The whimpering had begun again and he just _knew_ what it was—he could almost see it now: Ashlin with his smug smirk, his gold-spun hair slightly disheveled, his hands sticky with blood, dragging a battered toddler by an arm or a leg, intending to show it off to Markus as a prize, before executing it in a way that would make Markus’ stomach turn—

A weight pressing against his back, something was squeezing his shoulders, a hand snaked forward to cover his mouth, the taste of metal on his lips. He felt warm breath tickle the back of his neck and tried to reach for the weight, to shake it off, to scream—the tide of panic was overwhelming, he could feel his heart thud against his ribs, his breath scream in his lungs.

Then the sharp sting of teeth against—of all things—his _ear_.

In the distance, he could hear the hum of Ashlin’s voice, the sound of something dragging behind. It was far away now, he realized; he had lost his chance to act.

“My name’s Apep,” the sting on his ear had reduced—the words were whispered at his ear, “though some call me Apophis and such. Whatever’s easier for you to remember works.”

The child’s hand had not moved from his mouth, so Markus could only nod in response. The boy’s grip did not loosen, but Markus noticed that his weight shifted, and that he seemed to rest his head against the back of Markus’ own.

_Apep_. Markus had read somewhere that repeating a name numerous times in his head would help memorize it. It never seemed to work for him, but old habits were hard to kill.

_Apep._

Apep shifted on his shoulders again, and Markus caught something out of the corner of his eye. Slowly, with the child’s hand impeding his movement, Markus turned his head. A snake flicked its black tongue in his direction—its snout and head rounded with large golden eyes, length adorned with sandy brown scales, two black tear drop shapes under its eyes, and black spots tinting the scales on its back. It seemed to sway in midair, its gaze never wavering from Markus’.

Without a single thought except white static noise, Markus tried to stumble _away_ from the reptile, only to notice that the thing was draped over his shoulders. A hand blindly reached to rip Apep from his back, but the child’s grip only seemed to tighten. Markus wanted to scream, wanted to get the disgusting thing _away _from—

“_Still_. Don’t _move_. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?” the words were hissed at his ear, “Dina won’t bite, but you’re _scaring_ her.”

_Of course, the cobra has a name. I’m so sorry Miss Dina, I did not mean to scare you, but you must understand that you yourself just scared the shit out of me._

At a loss for words, and unable to speak, Markus merely nodded against Apep’s hand. The child seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he slid down from Markus’ back, using Markus’ hoodie as a grip, and stretching the fabric under his weight.

“You won’t want to see what’s in front of your door,” Apep spoke louder now, in a chirpy tone that set Markus’ teeth on edge. “We’ll wait until Damien comes back.”

And like an idiot, Markus could just say: “And what’re we going to do while we wait?”

“I’ll show you my room.”

The tiny fingers searched for his own hand, and Markus automatically grasped them despite his better judgment. The snake over Apep’s shoulders flicked its tongue one more before it slid beneath the kid’s clothes; shying away from the light. Second thoughts made Markus hesitate, his grip loosening, but Apep clearly had other plans. With the surprising strength he possessed he yanked Markus forward, pushing the door open and stumbling into the hallway with Markus in his wake.

“I think my room is nice even if you don’t like it.”

Markus blinked.

“And Izaac made sure to get all their tanks too. I just like letting them stretch themselves a bit.”

“What are you—?”

“And don’t sit on the desk again. They like the dark places and you really have problems with reasoning.”

Markus held his tongue.

“Really. You’re like a trouble magnet. When you’re not getting your head chopped off by Ashlin for that dumb kid, you’re trying to get bitten by snakes.”

“Where are we going?” the interruption was abrupt—his head was spinning. He did not care to read too deeply into the child’s words.

“My room,” he answered simply, “we’ll wait there until Damien comes to check on us.”

“Just clearing that up.”


	2. A Note on Slavery

When morning came, he shook me awake. Gently, but he woke me all the same.

At first I resisted, turning on my side and grumbling at him. When the rocking did not desist, however, I was forced to turn around and peer at him. His face was swollen, his eyes streaked with red. It took me a moment to remember what had happened last night, but when it did, I was instantly awake.

“Something wrong?” I tried not to yawn.

He didn’t answer at first, but looked at his hands, “I’m hungry.”

_Ah_.

I rubbed at my eyes, trying to get rid of the eye crust there. “Let’s get you breakfast, then,” this time, I did yawn.

I ruffled his hair, then stretched, only feeling satisfied when I heard little popping sounds from my limbs and back. I tasted the lovely taste of sleepy time germs in my mouth, and realized Apep had no toothbrush. I supposed I’d have to make him gargle water and toothpaste.

Smoothing his hair away from his face, I spoke, “First brushing, then eating.”

He frowned at me, but did not argue.

The familiar smells brought back memories: gently cooking flour, and the smell of eggs and butter. My mouth was watering, and I was fighting the urge to dip my fingers into the mixture and eat the crepe raw. What stopped me was my little companion.

I had pulled up a bar stool next to me, so I could keep an eye on him. I had tried, of course, to cook at my leisure and leave him unattended, but he had developed the nasty habit of clutching at my legs or outright tackling them, so I vouched for the safer alternative. I had read somewhere, in one of those child care books, that the best way to deal way to deal with a fidgety child was to get them involved. So I did just that, passing him a butter knife and few bananas and strawberries and instructing him to slice them.

Normally, I’d be a little more concerned about letting a child his age near a knife, but I had seen this kid play with Izaac’s scalpels without a single cut to speak of, so I figured it was safe. From the glances I threw in his direction, I thought he was doing a pretty good job. He sliced through the fruit with ease, and soon had a very healthy stack of them building up in a bowl I had passed him earlier.

“Markus,” his voice was soft and tremulous, “what’s the fruit for?”

“Crepes,” I answered brightly, feeling my stomach give an appreciating grumble.

“What’s that?”

I was horrified. A child, not know about the joys of crepes? The reason I had thought of cooking myself, instead of asking for the chef’s breakfast was because I thought he’d appreciate this more. I was almost heartbroken to realize that this was not so.

“It can be a dessert, or breakfast, or whatever you like,” I explained, “you cook the batter until it’s circular—like a pancake—then fill it up with whatever you like. For breakfast, you fill it up with stuff like hams and eggs. For dessert, you fill them up with chocolate, fruit, jam, or even ice cream.”

“Can I have mine with jam and chocolate?”

I chuckled, “I don’t think that’ll make a good mix.”

His responding frown was clearly disapproving, “What do you eat yours with, then?”

“Well, it depends—right now I’m in the mood for some strawberries and bananas, maybe with some chocolate,” the thought was making my mouth water again.

The child nodded to himself, “I want yours then,” and he sounded completely sure that I’d just fork over my breakfast like that. When I opened my mouth to protest, he merely cut me off, “I cut the fruit.”

“And I cooked the batter,” despite my protest, I knew this argument was going to get nowhere. So, with a sigh, I relented, “I’ll make two like that, then we can both have one, OK?”

He frowned, but did not reply, turning back his attention to the fruit before him.

He was unusually quiet as we ate. In fact, he only spoke once, to assure me that he liked the crepe, before going back and poking glumly at it with his fork. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was wrong him with, after all, his eyes were still red and swollen because of it.

But there was not much I could do—I had no way of directly contacting Izaac. I had a cell phone, yes, but the calls went directly to Damien—every single one of them. Though, when Izaac was home, they went directly to him. It was infuriating—dialing any number and simply getting to hear his smug voice at the other end. In short: the thing was useless, and I had shoved it into a dark corner of my wardrobe, never to be seen again.

Since Izaac was not home, I doubted I could reach him. My only hopes lied in Damien, and so far, I had not seen him around the house.

Yes, I knew I should’ve called him while I was in my room, but my mind was elsewhere, and the thought had simply not occurred to me until we had already sat down to eat.

As if answering my deepest desires, however, I soon spotted Damien just entering the kitchens—on the opposite corner of where we sat, but nonetheless, he was here.

“Give me a minute,” I told Apep, and hastily picked my way towards Damien.

Luckily, he noticed me approaching him. He stopped where he was, and turned a curious gaze on me. I did not speak until I was standing directly before him, though, and even then, I kept my voice as low as I could.

“The child’s worried about Izaac,” I figured the details were needless; that was between Izaac and Apep, dragging Damien into it would be more than useless, “he’s really upset, and even came to my room last night because of it.” When Damien did nothing but frown, I plowed on, “I was wondering if you could give him a call? He isn’t even eating.”

“They had a bit of a spat before he left...” he sounded thoughtful.

Well, well, well, weren’t we the perceptive one? I could see why Izaac kept him as his right hand.

“I really think he just needs to hear Izaac’s voice—is it possible to contact him at this time?”

“Of course,” and with that, he pulled a slender phone from his pocket, and set to dialing.

He waited only a few seconds, before Izaac picked up. “Izaac,” he said as a greeting, “the child seems to be troubled—is this a good time?” a pause, “Yes,” another pause, “Markus knows the details,” a longer pause, “I understand.”

And, just like that, the phone was thrust in my direction, “He wants a word with you.”

Gingerly, I took it, struggling just the slightest bit (I almost dropped it) to put it up to my ear, “Yes?”

“What happened?” he sounded a little winded, and I heard the sound of a commission, slowly growing lower (was that a scream?). He was moving away from the sound.

“He had a nightmare,” I didn’t know how to exactly explain it, since I didn’t understand much about it myself, “came to my room crying, said something about an argument between you two, though he didn’t make much sense. I tried to get him some breakfast, but he doesn’t seem to have much appetite.”

A pause, “I see.” Nothing, he seemed to be thinking rather profoundly, for I didn’t even hear him breathe, “Pass him on.”

Now to trek back to the other side of the kitchen and fetch him his child.

“It’s Izaac,” I told Apep once I stood before him, holding the phone towards him, “he wants to talk with you,” I tried flashing what I hoped was a comforting smile, but he didn’t look very comforted.

He took the phone as if it was something that might explode. Slowly, he held it up to his ear, and the first word he said was a broken, “I-Izzy?”

A pause.

“Izzy—I-I-I’m s-sorry,” tears prickled his eyes. “I’ll t-try harder n-next time—I-I—”

Another pause. He sniffled.

“But I-I couldn’t r-remember,” pause, “But I—” pause, “Izzy, I—” this time there was a longer pause. The whole kitchen was silent now, and I could hear the murmur of Izaac’s voice coming from the phone. Apep listened long and hard, and I could see tears brimming from his eyes, “Izzy, I miss you.” Another pause, this time, the child smiled right after. “When will you come home?” the smile dropped, but he had stopped crying, I noticed, “OK.” A pause, “I understand.” Another pause, “He’s been really nice—he cooked me these things called crepes, but he didn’t let me eat his,” a pause—I realized, belatedly, that he was talking about me, “I like him,” another pause, this time, he smiled again, “OK!” and before I could even blink, the phone was being thrust towards me.

“You’ll spend all your time with Apep,” Izaac didn’t even let me say hello, “until I arrive or he requests otherwise, is that understood?”

Whatever sense of flattery I felt when the child say he _liked me_ was almost gone—not that Apep was to blame, “Yes.”

“Good, pass the phone to Damien.”

I sighed, preparing myself for another trek across the kitchen, but when I turned around, Damien was there, holding a hand out for the phone. He took it wordlessly, suddenly all business. He chattered with Izaac briefly, mostly said “yes,” then hung up the call and turned his attention to me.

“You’ll be spending time with Apep,” he said softly, to my surprise, he looked up at the child and smiled, “Izaac has permitted the use of his room and whatever Apep would like. You’re also going to sleep with the child, in whatever room he prefers. You may leave to the closest town, if Apep wants, but only with a third person to accompany you.”

Lovely.

But, Apep, at least, looked happy. He grinned at me, his woes forgotten, and squealed a little something that sounded like “Yay, Markus!” before turning towards hid food and attacking it with renewed vigor.


	3. Go Fish

He was especially rambunctious today.

A few days ago, while we sat on the floor in his room playing _Go Fish_ with yellowed and beaten cards, he had said, almost as an afterthought as he picked up a card from the deck, if, maybe, a few days from now, it’d be interested in accompanying him to the lower floors of the house for a play date of some kind. This was surprising, given the fact that I was rarely given an option—the child already saw me as his plaything, and things, such as I, rarely have a choice in what happens. I was sorely tempted to decline, except I made a slight mistake, and that was to look up and meet his eyes.

They were wide as saucers; pleading with me to accept his invitation. Truly, the child was rowdy and mischievous, but he rarely meant me any harm—mostly, it was to just about everyone else. He had a rough, stubborn way to him that could be grating on the nerves, so chastising him was usually out of my options; not to mention, that doing so too roughly would incur Izaac’s wrath. He was a test to the patience to be sure, but a child still. Mostly, I had found, he simply had too much energy and too little to do. Spending it made him be as relaxed and sweet as honeyed tea.

He wasn’t that bad. He was just like any other child: he needed attention.

And under that wide-eyed, puppy dog-eyed gaze, it was a bit hard to tell him no, so with great trepidation, I finally agreed to accompany him, though it was not without a warning that I might simply be too busy to assist. All lies, of course. I doubted anything would appear that would keep me occupied. Even if it did, the child had priority over anything else.

That was enough for him: he grinned from ear to ear and nodded eagerly.

“I’ll drop by your room,” he had said, still buzzing with excitement.

I nodded, unsure of what to do, and turned my attention back to the game at hand.

As promised, he had come to my room that fateful day, positively bouncing with energy, buzzing left and right and chattering a mile a minute before I had even rubbed the sleep crust from my eyes. Thus, we go back to my previous statement: he was rather lively this fine summer day.

As soon as I was dressed, he snatched at my hand, leading me away from the room, and steering me clear from the kitchen. My stomach grumbled in protest, but the child would have none of that. When I commented on my lack of breakfast, he dismissed me with a shrug. Clearly, whatever this game of his involved, it was not a healthy diet.

He led me down a flight of stairs, steered me into the hallway, ducked into another, and led me down another flight of stairs. Truth be told: this place was enormous. I looked around the hallways, windows, and walls curiously enough, although it took me several minutes to finally figure out that I had never been to this part of the house before. I tried thinking back to the turns we made, but my mind turned out a blank: if I wanted to go back to my room, I’d most likely get lost. 

I was to be dependent on Apep then—with his moods and whims changing with the temperature. This day was turning out great so far.

The windows disappeared as we climbed down flights of stairs, and for a source of illumination, harsh artificial lights were turned on every few feet. Though, soon enough, after rounding a few more hallways, it became evident that the light sources were growing scarcer. It was never utterly dark, mind, but the light was so soft in places, all colors appeared grayed out and bleak. Apep hardly spoke as we went, and when he did, his words were commonplace and utterly useless. Mostly, he chose to direct his verbal observations towards the scenery that surrounded us: how bright those lights were, or how dark the hallway was. None of it gave me a single clue as to where we were going.

A point was reached where the lights suddenly grew constant. The hallways were bleached white, and the floors were made of smooth white tiles. The temperature was chilly, eliciting a little shiver from my companion. The only sound was the slight buzzing of the light fixtures and our slow footsteps across the hallways. I was surprised how we encountered no one on our way down here, but I neglected to mention it. I doubt Apep would have commented on it anyway.

He huddled closer to my side, clutching at my leg and shivering, and that’s when I gave a weary sigh. He looked up at me with large pleading eyes and I knew he got me. Hook, line, and sinker.

I sunk to my knees next to him, and wrapped my arms around his bum, waiting for him to hook his legs around my waist, and his arms around my shoulders. I struggled for a bit—he was a tad too much on the heavy and large size for carrying him to be of much ease, but I finally managed to stand, Apep cradled tightly in my arms. Once there, he giggled, pressing his face against my shoulders and closing his eyes.

I figured this meant that there would be no turns, so I continued down the hallway. I looked from wall to wall but our surroundings mostly remained unchanged. There were doors, metal grey slats with little numbers over the frame and small windows inserted at head height. I tried peeking into the windows, but it was only to realize that the rooms beyond where mostly dark. Only one of them had its lights on, but when I looked inside, it was just a normal office. I spotted a desk and a stack of papers strewn across it, but little else.

Ahead of us, the long hallway made a split into two, forming a T shape. At first glance, there was no indication of where I should be headed, but once I stood at this little crossway, I noticed the hall to my left simply led to a door, tightly shut, barring any intruders, while the one to my right continued on. Apep said nothing, in fact, he barely stirred in my arms, so I assumed we simply weren’t there yet. 

With a sigh, I turned to the right, and continued walking.

This time, however, I spotted a door, slightly ajar. Apep seemed to see it too, because he suddenly shifted in my arms, twisting around as much as my hold on him allowed, looking at the door. 

When I was standing six feet from the door, it suddenly burst open, and a nurse stood by it.

I was relieved to note there was no blood on her apron.

Her uniform was standard duty: no red cross on a cap or no such nonsense. The clothes she wore were baggy, so it was difficult to say how thick or thin she was. She was taller than me though, not by much, but just enough to be noticeable, and what skin I could see was sickly and pale. She glowered at me with black eyes framed by thick lashes, and her hair was a dirty blond that was tied in a severe knot behind her head. What dragged more my attention was the scar at her throat: whatever had taken a hold of that had not been kind. The tissue there was twisted and swelled up with soft pink, and what looked like the remnants of stitches criss-crossed her throat from collarbone to jaw—or at least they appeared to. She wore a surgical mask over her mouth that made it difficult to judge.

No one moved or said anything, so I was finally prompted to speak. “Um, hello.”

‘Tis was I, Markus, the master of eloquence.

The nurse glowered at me all the more, and just when I was thinking that maybe we shouldn’t be here, Apep leaned forward, against my arms, and stretched a hand out, a smile on his lips. “Izzy!”

When I looked up, sure enough, Izaac was there. He stood a bit behind the nurse, a white lab coat over his shoulders, a pair of glasses resting against the bridge of his nose, and a clipboard clutched in his hands. He seemed to have been reading something on the papers there when he overheard the sound of our footsteps, because he looked a bit confused. The expression cleared soon enough, however, and a small smile hovered over his lips.

“Let them pass,” he told no one in particular, but the nurse seemed to understand it as meant for her, because, with a last glower, she moved out of the door’s path, allowing me to carry my suddenly very eager little package in. Apep thrust out with both hands, fighting my hold on him, and nearly slipping from my arms in the process.

Izaac caught him easily enough, although, I did not notice when exactly he dropped the clipboard—it simply seemed to disappear from his grasp, and appear at the nurse’s. He hoisted the child, balancing Apep on his hip, and smiling down at him. Apep giggled, leaning into Izaac, and briefly pressing his lips against a rather amused Izaac’s.

“See? I brought him!” he sang. There was no need to ask who “him” was. Clearly I was the only one that had no idea what was going on here.

“So I see,” Izaac did not even glance in my direction, he was solely focused on the child.

“He even agreed to play,” Apep continued, this time, glancing in my direction with a mischievous grin.

“Did he now?” and this time, I noticed Izaac was looking at me too.

I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Behind me, there was the sound of a lock turning, and when I turned to look around, I realized the nurse had locked the door behind me, and now stood in front of it, her arms crossed over her chest.

Talk about ominous.

“We should start then,” Izaac continued talking like nothing had happened. Did that mean I was the only one feeling slightly claustrophobic now?

Apep giggled, and leaned into Izaac’s shoulder, nuzzling Izaac’s neck and settling more comfortably into his arms.

It was sad how I still thought he looked kinda cute while doing that.

Traitorous child.

While I tried not to hyperventilate, another nurse emerged from a door in the far wall. This one was male, and rather young from the looks of it—I would not put him past his early twenties. He had smooth, unmarked skin, as pale as his colleague’s. His hair was choppy and blond, and his eyes were grey, but had an alert sort of brightness to them. His movements were twitchy and erratic, and when he saw me, he offered a large friendly grin. It was also very hard to miss the jagged scars on his throat, the flesh misshapen, starting just at his lower jaw and extending towards his collarbone. In fact, I wouldn’t double check, but something told me they’d be the exact same as the one present on the other nurse.

So Izaac had done something to them.

No beating around the bush: that was definitely Izaac’s work.

The male nurse buzzed around the drawers and shelves in the room, grabbed a few miscellaneous objects, and departed, just as suddenly as he burst into the room.

Which brought the question into my mind: where were we?

The room was as bleached white as the hallways, and there was a wide array of shelves and drawers hosting objects of an impressive array pushed into two out of four walls. Most looked like standard doctor equipment: bottles of medicine, and chemicals and whatnot, the smell of antiseptics dominating the room with them, however, there were some things that were keenly out of place. There was what looked like a huge furry spider encased in amber, pushed against what appeared to be an egg the size of my head. 

I rather not ask.

There was a desk pushed against the wall with the door, with stacks upon stacks of papers atop of it. There was obviously some order to them, but none that I could decipher, and I was pretty sure that nosing through those would get my hand slapped.

When I turned back to face Izaac, his face was glued to Apep’s.

Well.

That’d explain why he let me look around the room at my leisure.

I wanted to clear my throat very loudly and obnoxiously as their lips worked against each other’s, but I feared that would be only rushing to my doom, so I left them at it. Instead, turning to look away, and mull over my escape. I could feel the nurse’s eyes at my back, as I stepped around the room as silently as I could, pressing closer towards the shelves to oogle at the contents.

There was a sigh, and I turned to see that Izaac’s face was flushed and red. Apep had ducked away from sight, and pressed his face against Izaac’s shoulder. Izaac mumbled something in the child’s ear, and Apep shifted slightly, moving his head in what looked like a nod. Izaac ruffled his hair, then turned towards me.

“Coming?”

I wanted to say that no, I wasn’t coming, that if I must stay, I’d just wait here, thank you very much, but from the look he spared me, it was clear the question was just a courtesy. I would be trailing behind him whether I wanted to or not. So I nodded, feeling that would ease the process, and Izaac turned away, picking his way towards the door the male nurse had disappeared into.

The female nurse didn’t budge from the door, and kept glowering at me until I finally decided to move, dragging my feet to follow Izaac. Apep peeked over his shoulder and offered me a smile, but I felt a bit too betrayed to accept the comfort. He pouted, and when I didn’t respond, and finally ducked out of sight.

The male nurse stood there, greeting us with a large crooked grin that, frankly, looked painful. 

It was an operating room: that much was simple to tell. The table lay in the middle of the room, with a figure strewn on it, mostly covered in sheets of paper. The light overhead was blinding, bleaching the details out of the room and turning everything into sharp smooth corners. The unmistakable _beep, beep, beep_ of a heart monitor could be heard. It seemed our happy friend had been prepping up the room while the two lovebirds played tongue hockey.

I didn’t pretend to know much about operating rooms, but from what I understood, there would usually not be chairs set to the side of the operating table, even if they were just stools—wasn’t there a glass for that? Where people could watch? But looking around, I could see no such thing.

Izaac gestured at me towards the chair, and I was surprised that he could be so thoughtful—out of all things. I hesitated at first, but he spared me an impatient glance, so I finally gathered that he was serious. Careful not to trip on any wayward feet or cables, I pulled myself up, and made myself comfortable on the chair. Once seated, Izaac detached Apep from his shoulders, and gently set him down on my lap, ruffling his hair one last time and pressing his lips against the child’s forehead.

He turned away from us and started spouting some doctor mumbo-jumbo at the two nurses, who quickly set about to fiddle with the equipment, to nod or shake their heads at anything Izaac asked. I noticed neither spoke to one another and wondered what exactly Izaac had done to their throats. He couldn’t have just snipped their vocal chords, could he?

“What’re we doing here anyway?” I asked Apep, wanting to distract myself from the motionless figure before us.

“You’ll see,” he chirped, “Izzy said we were in for a treat.”

Sadly, I did not think I’d want any treats handed from Izaac. After all, the man fed his dogs whoever happened to piss him off. It was sad to admit, but I did not eat or enjoy eating fingers or eyeballs.

Izaac and the two nurses were buzzing over the person on the operating table now. The male nurse double-checked the straps that tied the patient’s limbs, while the female looked around the monitors and jotted down some stuff in a clipboard. Izaac peeled away the sheets and I was unsurprised to note that the patient was completely bare naked underneath. It was a female; young, from the looks of it, with thick dark hair draped over the cold surface of the table. They didn’t even bother putting modesty cloths over her, not that I guessed, in the end, it mattered. Izaac was brusque and business-like, and I bet his own dick stopped to ask him for permission before it hardened. Not to mention, Apep was there watching, so he might not feel it proper to be distracted.

Speaking of which, wasn’t Apep just a child? I was sure he might have seen worse than a nubile young woman, but still. You’d think Izaac would at least pretend to protect his innocence.

None of these thoughts were particularly useful, but I guess thinking like that helped distract me from the horrors going on in front of me.

A scalpel had been retrieved from somewhere when I wasn’t looking, and Izaac was working swiftly now. He traced a “Y” shape over her shoulders and abdomen—akin to what you would see on a corpse that just had an autopsy performed on it. Blood bloomed from the wound, but if it bothered him, he did not show it. He carried on, spreading the skin away, and poking around, revealing crimson red, and yellow fat. I turned to look away, but Apep was affixed to the gruesome sight. The whirring sound of a bone drill came next, and I was pretty sure I did not want to watch.

There came the wet sticky noises of flesh being parted and rendered, followed by a sharp snap that was sure to be bone breaking. I felt vile rise in my throat, and gagged, but nothing came out. It was only then that I remembered I had missed breakfast. For some reason, in my desperation, while I heaved raspy breaths and clutched at Apep like a life raft, I looked in the direction of the table.

Yellow and white fat lined the pieces of flesh carved from the body, blood stained the table underneath it and the girl with red. Only then did I realize that the beeping of the heartbeat monitor had turned up to a frantic level, one _beep _barely distinguishable from the next. The male nurse was doing something to one of her arms, and it took me a moment to realize he was sawing it off—just below the elbow. The teeth of the saw caught against the flesh and tugged at it. He grunted with the effort, and then I heard a sharp grating sound, followed by the sound of flesh parting once more, and then the useless limb dropping to the ground with a wet _thump._ Blood gushed from the wound in a fountain, and the nurse took a few careful steps back to allow the female nurse to slip in between himself and the limb, and quickly go about stopping the bleeding from the wound.

Numbly, I wondered if there was any meaning to this procedure.

“How’s the healing going?” Izaac asked, as if hearing my thoughts, and the male nurse gave a thumbs up gesture.

Healing...? This looked to be far from it.

Izaac nodded, covered in blood from head to toe, and set back to working on something on her abdomen. I saw something round and covered in blood, and tried not to chuck up stomach acid. I gagged, and looked away, becoming keenly aware of the smell of blood and sweat now. I clutched Apep tighter, but if he noticed, he did not make a sign of it.

Suddenly, he jerked against my arms, pushing a hand forward and whining against my grip. I looked ahead again, alarmed, and tightened my hold on him. His eyes were fixed on something Izaac held in his hands, bulbous and streaked with blood. He whined again, and jerked against my grip once more, hands catching at the air uselessly.

Izaac was looking at him, his eyes wide and curious. He stepped around the table and brought the organ closer, listening to Apep’s whines grow more desperate, and his tugs wilder. I thought he would slip from my grip and topple forward, but suddenly Izaac was there, carefully handing him the organ, spider webbed with fat and blood. Apep took it reverently, eyeing it carefully, before looking up at Izaac and offering a shy smile.

Izaac flashed him a small smile of his own.

Honestly, a part of me was prepared to fling the child away and run, shrieking, from the room, but the other part refused to acknowledge what was happening and simply shrieked on and on in mute blind horror. The latter was the dominant one, so I sat there, unable to move and a bit entrapped by the sight before me. I figured I could not exactly blame Apep. He was a child after all, and most likely thought Izaac and the two nurses were in some kind of game—not that Izaac would bother to explain otherwise. He would most likely just be briefly amused at how the child played with body parts and dangled and plastered them all over himself and those around him.

This most likely meant I was going to get caught in the crossfire, but at the point I was beyond caring. My body was cold all over, my mouth was dry, and I felt my palms slick with sweat despite the coldness of the room. Everything seemed to be happening slowly and distantly, like I was the audience watching some kind of sick twisted movie with too-good special effects.

Apep brought the organ to his face, eyes wide, and a part of me wanted to scream, slap it away, confront Izaac about it, but if any words came, they choked and died in my throat. There was a wet _crunch_ sound, followed by the noises of meat tearing and chewing—

The room spiraled around me, and before I knew it, the floor was there to meet me.

When I started to come to, I felt something cold pressed against my cheek. I tried to open my eyes, but it turned out to be too much effort. Where was I? I couldn’t seem to remember what I had been doing. I briefly recalled waking up, but everything after that pulled up a blank.

Slowly, with a small groan, I opened my eyes, squinting at the unexpected bright light. Before me hovered the male nurse, grinning nice and big, just for me. I blinked up at him, and he seemed to giggle silently. With my vision, I trailed the line of his shoulder, noticing that his hand clutched something pale, tinged with little red trickles of something—

My mind stalled. Something?

_Blood_.

That’s when I realized the cold thing pressed against my cheek was the amputated arm. I screamed then, bright and sharp, and flung out a hand catching the nurse in the nose. He stumbled back, clutching at his face and dropping the useless limb. Despite this, he still seemed to be grinning at me. I kicked out blindly, and struggled to push myself up to my elbows. There was a sheet draped over me, splattered with blood. I looked wildly around the room and realized we were still in the operating room: just pushed towards a corner, out of the way (and, yes, the body was still there, the heart monitor still beeped, though I preferred to ignore it).

Izaac sat by my legs, paying no mind to me, and holding what looked like an ice pack to Apep’s forehead. Despite this, the child looked to be content enough, he chattered to Izaac about something I couldn’t quite catch, and Izaac nodded diligently, and smiled at the child’s words.

Apep clutched something in his hands, and my stomach turned just from thinking about it. His mouth, throat, and shirt, were stained with red, and he kept licking his lips as if savoring it. As I watched, Izaac leaned forward and pressed his lips briefly against Apep’s, causing the child to giggle.

When they parted, Izaac seemed to finally notice I was there. He frowned at me, but refrained from pointing out that my fall could have seriously hurt Apep. Not that I would apologize—I could hardly help fainting.

“I’m guessing you’ve had your fill?”

I didn’t know whether to nod or shake my head, so I just glared.

He shrugged, “You can try leaving now, but I would not loiter around the halls in here if I were you.”

“I figured,” nothing would be so simple.

Izaac seemed to mull something over, before he finally nodded. “Damien’s in the office, down the hall from here—you passed it on your way, do you think you can find your way there?”

I didn’t immediately answer, but instead struggled to a stand, surprised when the female nurse was suddenly there, putting my arm over her shoulder and heaving me up. Izaac had turned away from us now, going back to tending to Apep.

“Thank you for coming here with me,” Apep spoke up suddenly, looking at me with bright glittering eyes, a small smile hovering over his bloodied lips.

And, although, I was sure the blood ruined the effects, I still felt my heartstrings give a tug when he lifted his pudgy little hand to wave good-bye. I nodded at him, smiling weakly as the nurse led my away, my last thought going something like—

Dammit, that kid will get me killed.


	4. Massage Parfait

The office turned out to be nothing more than your average government-run one. Shelves ran from floor to ceiling on either wall to the side of a simple wooden desk. Papers were stacked here and there, tucked inside thick manila folders. I gathered most be patient records or research documents, but it did not stop my curiosity from being piqued.

Damien sat behind the desk, hunched over one of the reports when I finally walked in. He did not immediately look up at me, but instead continued reading through the paper. Once he finished, he folded it, and tucked the papers out of sight. It was then that he lifted his gaze, studying me carefully before finally speaking.

“It was the child?”

I nodded, my gaze flicking away from him to search around the room. Damien nodded to himself, before standing. He moved towards the corner of the room and snatched a simple folded chair from it, pulling it open and setting it down before me, in front of the desk.

“Coffee? Tea?”

I shook my head—I’d most likely puke anything I dumped into my stomach right now.

“You look like death warmed over,” his tone was gentle, but chiding, “if you don’t get something in your system you might collapse.”

“Again,” I put in mildly, and from the sudden sharp look he gave me, I knew I caught him by surprise. He composed himself soon enough, however, and suddenly he was all business again. He straightened up, turning to face the desk once more. He snatched up a phone from somewhere, and quickly set to work.

“Can you send some breakfast down?—No?—I see—Some dessert then? Pudding parfait? It’s for Markus—Uh-huh—Yes—That’s right—Yes, that’s fine. I understand—Uh-huh—Alright, thank you.”

I glowered at him as he spoke, but he ignored me, in typical Damien matter.

“Sit,” his voice left no room for question, and I did not really favor standing, so I did as he said without protest. 

He sat in front of me, arms crossed over his chest, frowning in disapproval. He studied my face carefully, before finally giving a deep sigh.

“What happened?” his voice sounded like simple concern, but I found myself peering at him suspiciously all the same. Was this Damien the stiff and polite friend or Damien, Izaac’s loyal pet? His face revealed little, as always, but I thought his concern was real enough. He wouldn’t be trying to get food in my system all the way over here if it was not because he feared I would not make it to the kitchen. That, and from what I could see, we probably had more privacy here.

“Izaac,” I made the name a hiss, causing Damien to frown.

“Izaac has an operation scheduled today, if I’m not mistaken—aaah,” he frowned once more, nodding to himself, “I see—so you met twenty-six and twenty-seven?” My face must have showed how confused I felt, because he plowed into a hasty explanation, “two nurses—a young man and his cousin. Those two are a favorite of Izaac’s for this type of procedure.”

Which brought the question, “What was the purpose of all that, anyway?”

“Regeneration,” he hesitated before continuing, obviously wondering how much he should tell me, “Izaac’s been studying the effects of one of his latest splices. She’s been remarkable at regenerating organ tissue, healing bones, and even growing back limbs, so the team has been testing endurance and its limits.”

“I don’t think she’ll survive that,” I tried to keep my voice steady, but failed—the image of the arm being sawed off was still rather vivid in my mind.

“Oh, no—that’s not her. Not the original one at least. It’s one of her copies.”

Aah, that could explain her youth. Izaac was cloning her—I guess it wouldn’t do to waste such a valuable subject, and this way, he wouldn’t have to worry about being too extreme in his treatment. Still, as much sense as it made, I could still feel my stomach turn at the thought. I was hardly one to preach about morality, but something about the whole thing felt _wrong_.

“None of them have died so far—though, from what I understand, they’re tuning up the degree of violence inflected on them little by little, until they catch the limit. There hasn’t been a sign of any of the test subjects failing a test, so she should be fine.”

Somehow, that did not make me feel better. Damien must have noticed, because he proceeded to (thankfully) shut up. The damage was done, however—and I felt woozy. The trauma the girls were inflicted alone was surely enough to kill them, even if they regenerated all the tissue, wouldn’t just the shock of it turn their brains to jelly? Or, with time, could they regenerate even that too? A part of me was curious about the results from the experiments, but mostly, I wanted a bit of alone time in a bathroom with my head hanging over the toilet.

Suddenly, Damien was standing behind me and his hands were pressing against my shoulders, rubbing slow circles against the muscles, squeezing and pressing against them, until I felt them go slack. I didn’t protest as his ministrations moved from my shoulders, to my forearms, his fingers were deft, used to the work, though I wasn’t sure from where. The point of attention of the massage turned from my arms to my back, and I leaned forward, clutching at the desk in front of me as his hands moved lower. There was a hesitation in his work, and just as I was about to turn around to protest, when I realized he was tugging at my shirt. I was briefly embarrassed, but hid my face by pulling the shirt over my head.

I tried not to groan when I felt him press hard against the spine, using the back of his hands to press at the muscles around it. His hold shifted to my waist, and he pressed his fingers to my sides, squeezing. I felt his knuckles press against my upper back. His thumbs traced a line to either side of my spine, and I closed my eyes in pure bliss.

He tugged at me briefly, urging me to stand, and without much question, I did. My legs wobbled, and he seemed to notice, because he was suddenly there, wrapping an arm around my waist to hold me up. 

It was hard not to notice what else was pressing against me.

“You’ll owe me another massage,” I said, turning to look over my shoulder, and surprised to catch a smile hovering over his lips.

“It’d be my pleasure,” he practically hummed, hands setting to grasp at my jeans, the other gently pressing me forward so I clutched at the desk for support.


	5. Banana Pudding

My muscles felt slack and useless. After a round (or two) of Damien’s amazing massages, I felt like my legs were made of jelly, and it was all I could do to keep myself from collapsing to the floor and going to sleep right there.

Damien was nothing if not attentive, however, and he led me to the big comfy office chair tucked behind the desk, and allowed me to rest there. I collapsed immediately, and smiled in pure bliss. Damien seemed amused by my reaction, because a small smile hovered over his lips. He smoothed my hair back from my face and assured me that he would be back in a few minutes.

I couldn’t even bring myself to nod, but instead closed my eyes and paid attention to the sound of his receding footsteps.

I don’t know how long I sat there, tethering between sleep and wakefulness, but I was eventually roused by a quick successions of knocks on the door.

When I didn’t immediately answer, a shy voice broke through the silence, high-pitched and broken, “F-food for M-Markus!”

I knew that voice: _Mouse._

My stomach rumbled in appreciation.

“Come in.”

Sure enough, Mouse stood there, shaking from head to foot and holding an actual silver platter that held a stylish cup, and a glass of what appeared to be milk with a piece of banana pinned on the edge. I couldn’t help but smile.

Mouse took a few steps forward and paused, surprised. The desk before me was a mess—papers and folders had been hastily pushed aside to make space for, well, myself. The end result was that there were papers scattered across the floor, and a large spot open in front of the desk where nothing besides the remnants of some sweat resided. Usually, Damien was much more orderly than this.

There was a slight hesitation, but finally Mouse decided to ignore it, and gently set down the platter before me, offering me a quick shy smile.

“Thanks,” I called after him, and he stopped by the door, flashed me another smile and disappeared into the hallway.

With little choice, I finally looked at what Damien had ordered for me.

The stylish cup did turn out to be parfait—banana pudding layered between crushed vanilla cookies lightly, and layered with caramel syrup. The middle and top layers were sliced bananas. The glass of milk was topped with whipped cream, caramel syrup and that slice of banana I had caught sight of before.

Ah, yes. This breakfast almost made the previous events have been worth it.

I spotted a spoon inside the folded cloth napkin, and hastily turned to devour my treat, feeling a little smile tug at my lips.


	6. Feeding Time

The sound of sucking and chewing filled my world. I could hear nothing, but those disgusting sounds—meat tearing, liquid flowing, little groans of pain and ecstasy. When I opened my eyed it only seemed to get worst—yellow chunks of fat pooled to the floor mixing with blood and viscera. Somehow, Apep had managed to crack the ribs, and the broken piece of one lay by his side—glistening with blood and traces of flesh.

I tried to look away.

“Don’t you want any?” his voice floated up, curious and cheerful. When I turned to peek at him, his mouth, throat, and chest were stained with blood. Chunks of muscle stuck to his cheeks, and his hair was completely matted in places with blood.

I wanted to puke. Most overwhelming of all was probably the smell—blood, and shit, and who knows what else.

“It’s good,” Apep insisted, and I tried not to shudder. As I watched, a snake slithered over his stomach and peered at the gap in the man’s trunk, tongue flicking.

“I’ll save the good parts for you,” the child declared, oblivious.

“That’s alright—d-don’t bother. I’m fine, really.”

Nope.

I really wasn’t fine.

He flashed me a concerned look, eyebrows pulled together, lip slightly pouted.

“If you say so,” he conceded, turning back to his meal, “but you haven’t eaten anything at all."

With good reason too—as soon as Izaac told me I was babysitting Apep, and that I had to feed him, I knew it’d all go wrong.

Why was I feeding Apep?

Apep ate nastily. That wasn’t fair.

Not that life with Izaac was fair.


	7. Bunny Slippers

I was roused to wakefulness by the sound of knocking on my door. It was tentative at first, making me frown, but otherwise ignore it—but it soon became agitated, almost desperate, and I was forced to alertness.

I sat up, rubbing at my eyes and cracking a yawn and that’s when I heard it—the sound of sobbing.

Immediately, I was on my feet, nearly tripping in my haste to reach the door, turning around just enough to hit the bedside’s lamp, and stumble towards the door. When I did, I paused, suddenly feeling wary. There were many things that couldn’t get to my room, namely, because I was anal about locking it behind me. It wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that there was something rather mean waiting for me just outside the door. Didn’t Ashlin have two assistants—as sweet as sweet could be, until they were asked to be otherwise? I wouldn’t put it past Ashlin to set a trap of this sort to lure me out—I could practically see him standing over the door, grinning to himself, breathing as quietly as he could.

The sobbing spiked up, and I heard a little hiccup.

Dammit.

“Who’s there...?” I tried to keep my voice low and steady, fingers itching to snatch the locks away and pull the door open.

I heard sniffles, a quiet sob, and another hiccup, but no immediate reply. There was a deep, rattling breath taken on the other side of the door, following by a timid, “M-Markus...?”

“Apep?”

“M-Markus—” the voice broke, and another sob broke through. Whatever else he might have said was lost.

Why would the child be here? Had he forgotten the way to his room? Had he seen something that scared him? A nightmare, perhaps? But either way—why to my room and not Damien’s? Surely he has better capabilities when it came to dealing with squalling children.

Not that I was about to wonder for long—as much as I would’ve liked to say otherwise, I wasn’t one to resist a child’s tears. Even if this was one of Apep’s little tricks—and there was a high chance of that—these sounded too genuine to ignore. Still, doubt ate away at me.

Before I could convince myself to ignore him, I quickly turned to fidget at the locks—releasing them one by one, until the door stood open before me. 

It most definitely was Apep standing before me. He was wearing a faded blue shirt that hung over his wobbly knees, and the bunny slippers Ashlin had gotten for him a few months ago. It took me a second to realize the shirt he was wearing was Izaac’s—a few more to realize just how bad his crying was. His face was puffy and red, and I could see boogers and tears catching the low light of the hallway’s lamps. His eyes were definitely swollen, and even worse, there was not a single snake draped over his skinny shoulders.

Though, I had realized that, lately, when with me, he tried to keep the nasty reptiles away. I supposed it was to make me more comfortable—which was almost a touching thought.

“Apep?” I dropped to my knees in front of him, smoothing his hair back from his face, “what’s wrong, little guy?”

He didn’t reply, instead threw himself forward, pressing his face against my shoulder and rubbing all his snot onto my shirt. I clutched at him, rocking him back and forth gently as the sobs shook his body.

“Shh,” I tried telling him, stroking the back of his head, “it’ll be alright—don’t worry.”

It should be worth mentioning that I had no idea what was wrong in the first place.

He shook his head, hiccupped, and erupted back into more crying, and I realized that this wouldn’t be something that I could just pet until it went away. With that thought in my mind, I realized, it would probably not be a good idea to just keep standing here, in the middle of the hallway, just asking to be spirited away by who-knows-what.

“Let’s get inside,” I told him, gently detaching him from my shoulder until I could see his tear-streaked face.

Mute, he nodded, his hands grasping my arm and trailing downwards until they clutched my hand.

I stood up, patted him on the head and he sniffled. Gently, I urged him inside. Once there, I shut the door firmly behind me, and threw back the locks. A small part of me wondered if I should maybe fetch Damien, but I quickly dismissed the notion. It wouldn’t do to wander these halls at night. The best I could do was keep Apep here, with me, and comfort him to the best of my abilities until Damien came for the child in the morning.

I led him towards the bed, giving him a little boost so he sat by the edge. He sniffled and hiccupped, but otherwise, did not say a word. Once there, I settled to his side, surprised when he leaned his head against my side, clutching at the shirt.

“Now, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He didn’t reply at first, but instead buried his face to my side and hiccupped quietly into it. Eventually, he lifted his face just long enough to hiccup, “N-Nightmare,” then squeeze against me once more.

“I see,” I said, though I certainly _did not_ see. What could perturb this devilish child to the point where he was reduced to nothing but tears and snot? Apep always struck me as the loner child that kept people around him for mere convenience rather than necessity. Sure, that was most likely far from true, but I believed it’d take him much more than the threat of a boogeyman to reduce him to this. I tried to calm him then, smoothing back his hair and rubbing his back, letting him cry until his hiccups and sobs ceased. After a few minutes, he pulled away, but refused to meet my gaze.

“What happened?”

He did not reply; instead he looked down at his hands, curled up over his knees. It was alarming to see the cheery child like this—and just when I was about to dismiss my question and simply hold him until he drifted back to sleep, he finally spoke—

“He left me,” his voice was so low and soft I thought I misheard him.

“Izaac?”

He nodded, and tears pricked at his eyes once more. “I-Izzy_ left m-me._”

Oh dear, how did one deal with a heartbroken child?

“That was just a dream,” I heard myself say, reaching forward to clutch at the child, “Izaac would never leave you.”

But he merely shook his head, “N-No, you don’t under_s_-_st_and. I didn’t _remember_ and he looked so _upset_, and I think we argued then h-he _left_, and I couldn’t apologize and I _saw_ it—he’s going to _leave_ me.”

And I understood approximately 14% of that sentence.

Hey, looks like something Jo taught me came in handy.

“Izaac adores you,” which, as far as I know, was pretty true—Izaac looked at Apep with nothing but utter admiration, and seemed to be far more tolerant of this child than of all the house members put together. If Izaac had a weak spot, I’d believe it was this weepy toddler right before me—which would explain why he kept Apep stashed away as safely as he could. “I honestly don’t think he’d ever leave you—so what if you had a little argument? He’ll forgive you. Just had to leave for work, probably.”

Dr. Markus Moreno, relationship advice 101—currently with client, young heartbroken Apep Yudovich. Analysis of subject concludes that he’s around half adorable and half really weird in equal measures. 

“But I _saw _it,” he sniffled.

“That was just a dream.”

“And I couldn’t _remember_.”

This was turning out to be a recurring subject, wasn’t it?

So with little option, I asked for the obvious one, “What didn’t you remember?” It hadn’t been Izaac’s birthday, had it? In any case, even if it was, that’d be kinda hard to judge a child so harshly by remembering or not such a specific date. After all, being cooped in this house probably did nothing to help his internal clock.

“About us—when we met before.”

When _did _Izaac meet this kid? At the womb? “You must’ve been really young,” I said, because, really, what else could I say?

But he only shook his head, “Not _now—before._”

“Before?” I wasn’t even sure what I was asking at this point.

A sniffle, “I don’t remember a lot from before—I-I think it’s because I’m so young, but what if I don’t ever remember?”

I was so confused, “I don’t think that matters,” my mouth was pretty much babbling on auto-pilot, because I had long since retreated to a little corner of my brain to shriek in confusion, “Izaac can hardly blame you for that.”

“But he _left,_” and with that, he broke like a dam of tears and snot once more, and I was forced to clutch him in my arms again, and stroke his head.

“Hey, hey,” as gently as I could, I shook him, waiting until his eyes were fixed on mine, “Izaac will never leave you,” or at least, I certainly hoped not, because I wouldn’t be able to deal with this child for forever, “he’ll come back. Why don’t we call him in the morning, and you’ll see?”

He stared back at me with big teary eyes, “Will you be there with me?”

Wow, this kid really trusted me. Now I felt kinda bad for being impatient.

“Of course.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll be there with you, and don’t you worry. But now, we need to get some sleep.”

His eyes grew wide then, “Can I stay?”

Like I had a choice?

“Yes,” I ruffled his hair then, smiling down at him. He seemed to nod to himself, then throw his arms around my shoulders, squeezing his eyes shut, and forcing me to fall back against the bed sheets. 

At least he wasn’t all that heavy.


	8. Sharks

I could hear him crying through the wall from the room next door. He sounded both desperate and scared, and every time he hiccupped or gasped I felt my heart jump to my throat. I had tried screaming, spitting, hissing, and even threatening, but they paid me no mind. To them I was simply a buzzing fly.

“M-Markus?” his voice rose to a cry, and I trashed against my chair in a futile attempt to somehow reach him. They had long since gagged me to avoid the child hearing my words or pleas.

“I w-want d-daddy,” he wailed, and I felt my heart sink.

Where was Izaac? Surely, he must know by now. Surely he would not allow anything to happen to the child.

“You’ll be back to your daddy in due time, but first you have to tell us—”

“No!” there was a smacking sound, followed by what I thought was Apep trashing in his chair. “Let me go! I want Markus.”

I hung my head, thoughts reeling. There must be something I could do, but what? I was gagged, tied to a chair. I hadn’t been hurt, but I was tired of trashing and protesting. My wrists had been chafed bloody by pulls and yanks, and it had all been for naught. My head swirled and the world tilted and reeled around me.

“You can see Markus when—”

“No!” he choked on snot and tears, then there was silence. Something was wrong.

“Let her go!” he shrieked, and this time, he yanked at his bindings so violently, I thought I heard something snap. Did he dislocate a bone...?

“Her? This thing’s a _her_?” another male voice. His voice was mocking.

“Don’t hurt her,” Apep whined, and there was a _thud_ that could have been him slumping against the chair.

“She got a name?”

There was a hiss, and I suddenly understood—they had one of the snakes.

There was silence. The sound of footsteps.

“I asked a question.”

A silence. Brief. “Izaac will kill you,” and his voice was not a threat—it was stating a fact. Clean and simple. Izaac would not accept this. They were dead men, I knew. Walking time bombs. If they had family, Izaac would find them. If they had any property, Izaac would find it. Anything at all, Izaac would find it. He might not even kill them at first—he’d make their life a living hell before he did that.

“Heh. You think he’d risk that?”

A chuckle, low and throaty: “He won’t be risking anything.”

A sharp crack, gunfire, and a yelped scream. That’s how long it lasted. The guard by me panicked, his hand flashed to his gun and the gun moved towards the door, except the door was already open. A whirl of movement and the guard was on his back, unconscious, and Damien was _tutting_ over me, working at the bindings around my wrists.

“You OK?”

“Concussion, I think,” I managed to cough out, trying not to think too much about how fast Damien could move, “Fell trying to get away. Dumb move.”

“It’s alright.”

I wanted to hiss something rude back, but I did not have the strength to argue. “Apep?”

“With Izaac.”

Figures. At least he was safe now.

Half in, half out, Damien dragged me out of the room. My eyes quickly searched for the child, and found him in Izaac’s arms. It was odd not to see Izaac firing a thousand orders at once, but he seemed distracted—the relief from having Apep back in his arms must have rendered him half-mute.

His head was leaned against the child’s, and he held his arm up so Apep could curl his fingers around the digits. The other arm held and pressed the child to his body. He was armed to the teeth, but it somehow bothered neither of them.

I had to smile in relief at the sight.

Then I heard a low voice, “Markus said you’d feed their balls to the sharks—can you do that, daddy?”

Izaac smiled despite himself, “Why not?”


	9. Unsettling

“I like snakes,” Apep hummed, turning his odd bright green eyes towards me.

I nearly retorted with a simple: “I don’t,” but then I remembered, he was one.

“They’re unsettling,” I said instead.

Apep frowned at me, his little face screwing up in what almost looked like a pout. “I am a snake.”

“I know,” I said.

Apep kept looking at me—prompting me to expand. To justify, to retract my last comment, to deny what I had stated. Instead I countered with a: “You unsettle me.”

He grinned in response.


	10. Sniffles

He was getting taller now—when he stood, the hairs on his head tickled my chin, and although he was still noticeably shorter than me, it did not take a genius to know that he would grow to be much, much taller. I expected he’d be around Izaac’s height—and Izaac was huge. All long limbs packed with smooth toned muscles lining his arms, shoulder, abdomen, and legs. Soon, I’d be stuck between three giants and a crazy blond guy.

But for now, I could enjoy a sleepy Apep and a brooding Izaac.

Winter came swift and biting, and, just like that, Apep dropped the biting habit and adopted a sleeping one. Now, he only came to my room, complaining about the cold and digging himself to my side before falling asleep. His snakes—the usual bodyguards over his shoulders—seemed to be affected as well. They were sluggish now and hardly moved. Many a time I had brushed against them and they hadn’t even spared me a glance.

To top it off, Apep seemed to have gotten some kind of cold. He coughed and sometimes transparent boogers came out. It was disgusting and, of course, my job to clean up. And Izaac’s, but Izaac did not mind. He treated the sticky bodily fluids as if they were something to cherish—smiling at Apep as he wiped his nose and then kissing him. It was disgusting, really.

I had, of course, told Izaac about Apep’s odd behavior, but there was not much he could do besides make sure Apep’s room was maintained nice and toasty. He could not exactly change the weather, though I had the suspicion he had honestly tried.

It made my job easier, however, as Apep was not running about. He was usually stuck to my side, sleeping, and he’d only move to crawl to Izaac’s lap and sleep there. Sure, he was getting heavier, but compared to being tackled down, I preferred his heavy self leaning against me.

“Is he alright?” Izaac stretched from his seat across from me to peer at Apep’s sleeping face. He had been on a call, so the suddenness of his words left me gaping for a few moments.

I forced myself to choke out some words: “Y-yeah, just sleeping.”

Izaac stared at Apep for just a heartbeat longer, then stretched a hand to smooth back Apep’s hair, and strokes his cheek. “Do you think he’s sick?”

It occurred to me, half a moment after that the question was not directed towards me.

“His coughing has stopped,” Damien grunted.

“Mmm,” Izaac did not seem convinced. He stroked the head of a snake that stretched towards his hand, then grabbed the green-and-yellow bed sheet Apep had brought with him, and pulled it higher over Apep’s chin. “Make sure he stays warm,” he grunted. 

I was sure this time the words were directed at me, but I simply nodded.

Talk about over-protective husband. Sniffles weren’t going to kill the boy.


	11. Watching Plans

“Markus,” he sang as he stretched on top of me, rudely pushing my DS away from my face so I could see his wide grin.

I scowled.

“Markuuus,” he sang once more, rolling on top of me until his back was pressed against my chest, the grin never leaving his face.

I sighed.

“Mar_kuuus_,” he, unsurprisingly, said once again, flashing me a crooked grin that did not make me feel any better.

I tried looking away.

“Daddy’s horny, Markus,” he told me, his little fingers tugging at the neck of my shirt, “why don’t you help him?”

“Do I have to?” I turned my eyes away from the child and towards Izaac, who was sitting behind his desk, looking down at his papers and reading through them. He did not lift his gaze, but I saw his shoulders lift in a shrug.

“See?” I told the child, trying to squirm out of my beanbag—maybe if I tilted myself as an extreme enough angle, I would be able to reassume my game.

“I want to see you two fuck though,” the child told either Izaac or me—I wasn’t looking to tell, “can I watch, Izzy? I like watching.”

Oh dear. I lifted my eyes, trying to peer over my DS to take a garner of Izaac’s expression, and he was looking up now—his eyes fixed on me.

Well, damn.

Izaac had cleared enough space on the desk so I could safely grasp at its shiny smooth surface without upturning the blocks of papers that made up his work. Before Izaac had started undressing, Apep had wriggled onto the space before me, sitting up and smiling wide, watching everything with large excited eyes. When Izaac slammed me unto the desk, Apep gave a little squeak.

There was not much of a reaction besides that. He placed little sloppy kisses on my cheeks and forehead as Izaac slammed into me. Occasionally, he’d speak to Izaac in a tongue I now knew was some form of archaic Egyptian. I’d like to think I had picked up a few words, but it was mostly guesswork, and not enough to tell what they were saying. Words commonly used—yes and no, were common enough so that I was confident in my half-assed translation. However, a yes or a no would not even begin to decipher the endless little private jokes and mischievous suggestions they told each other as Izaac dug into me.

When Izaac replied to Apep he did not even have the grace to sound winded. His voice still flowed like melted butter; as clear as a bell, and as enchanting as ever. Meanwhile, I was in the process of digging into the wooden surface of the desk with my teeth, and out of all the things I wasn’t sure, I did know this:

I wasn’t a beaver.

Not that Izaac particularly cared.

Mostly though, Apep would push himself up, using my head as his prop, to look over at how Izaac and I were connected. When Izaac noticed Apep’s saucer-like eyes fixed on him, he’d lean forward to place a kiss on his lover’s lips, and Apep responded eagerly to any kind of affection from Izaac’s behalf, leaning forward and using my back as balance. Twice now I feared his jostling would snap my neck like a twig–he had surprising strength for someone so young, and he jerked so suddenly upright when Izaac leaned forward even the slightest bit that I had no chance to prepare.

Izaac was quick and rough with me now; not unusual, but there seemed to be some more thoughtfulness to his movements, lifting my ass until I was forced to stand on the tips of my toes, if that, all so his young husband could see.

It would have been almost touching if I wasn’t the one paying the consequences. Or maybe not.

Although the position was highly uncomfortable for me, Izaac seemed to enjoy it. He slammed his hips hard enough to make my legs rattle underneath me, and the force behind his thrusts even managed to push the desk forward half an inch or so. On one such occasion, the pain that tingled my nerves was so sharp and sudden that I hissed with pain. The next thrust made a groan slip from my lips.

I screwed shut my eyes, bearing myself for the tide of pain to come, but with a sudden word from Apep, Izaac slowed his movements to a roll of his hips that did not feel entirely unpleasant. When I looked up at Apep, he was smiling at me, eyes alight with mischief.

It did not take long for Izaac to resume his savage pace, however. When it became clear the pain had ebbed, his hands tightened around my hips, changing the alignment the slightest bit, before slamming into me again with enough force to make my head snap forward, and a startled gasp to slip from my lips. He continued the manic pace until my gasps became as much pants as pleas for mercy, and although the sensation was too numbing to feel pain, my body still twitched in response, and my legs rattled, threatening to buckle. When Izaac noticed, his hand tightened around the back of my shirt, and he yanked me forward until my crotch rubbed against the desk’s corner. He grunted, thrusting again with such a jarring movement of his hips that I felt the desk jerk with me another half inch.

“How does it feel?” Apep’s voice sounded oddly hushed, and it took me a moment to realize he was asking Izaac and not me.

“It’s Markus,” Izaac’s voice was husky, and no less enchanting because of it. He muttered a few more words in what I thought was Russian that made Apep grin. I sincerely hoped they were compliments.

Izaac grunted again, rocking me forward with his thrust, drawing back before slamming against me hard enough to make my legs jerk. He reassumed his frantic pace, before a quiet groan overtook his voice, and then he pulled out.

Without the support from behind, my bottom sagged, and I felt myself slipping from the desk, my toes skimming against the ground. I did not turn around to see what Izaac was doing—I didn’t want to know. I slid back on the desk, wary of the stack of papers around me, feeling my hips creak and complain from the abuse. Once my feet were flat against the ground, I set my elbows on the desk to lift my torso.

“Good?” Apep was looking at a spot behind me.

“I should be asking you that,” Izaac hummed, and I heard a zipping sound.

“I always like watching,” Apep replied, and this time his eyes flicked towards me with a grin. “One day I’ll join too,” he mused, “I’ll have you and daddy.”

From his tone of voice, the prospect pleased him immensely. I wasn’t sure what to reply so I simply nodded, bouncing back on the balls of my feet and hoping Izaac was not looming behind me preparing himself for another round.

“We should make plans,” Izaac’s voice came from somewhere behind my shoulder, nearly making me jump.

Giving the two of them a wide berth, I slipped from behind the desk, searching for my DS—something told me I’d need it doubly so now.


	12. Scent

The garment was far too large for me, and hung loose over my shoulders and legs. I could move freely, but awkwardly, and something about the whole situation felt off. The soft mattress under me was ridiculously welcoming, inviting me to close my eyes and drift away, and the sheets were plush and warm—they smelled of use, however—Izaac, mostly. It was odd how his scent felt so familiar now.

Apep shifted next to me, and in the half-light that filtered through the windows I could see that his eyes were half-closed, his expression relaxed. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer, making my back press against him. I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my breathing slow and even. His own breath tickled my neck; warm and slow.

He pressed his lips against my shoulder, his hand slipped around my waist, holding me against him. Slowly, he traced a line of sloppy kisses from my shoulder, up the side of my throat, stopping at my jaw line. He seemed to hesitate, before freeing one of his hands from my waist and tilting my face towards him.

I pulled away, turning away from him. I wiggled away, and set an elbow against the bed, struggling to sit up.

“Izaac—” his voice sounded lost, hurt.

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. Despite the fact that my name wasn’t Izaac, and despite the fact that I didn’t want to do this, I felt my resistance crumble. I couldn’t speak—to speak would be to ruin his little fantasy. I didn’t have Izaac’s smooth deep voice that enchanted so many. He’d want that. He _wanted_ to believe he was with Izaac.

I allowed him to pull me to him, allowed him to press his lips against mine, and even though it was a poor effort, I tried to respond to him. I kept the pace slow, tried to deter him from me—to get bored and drift off to do something else.

For the most part, it seemed to work. He parted the kiss and turned his attention back to other things. His hand slid lower over my stomach, and he worked at the belt buckle, undoing the latch with ease. I heard the sound of the metal falling on the floor—he had flung it aside as carelessly as one would a used napkin. The belt probably cost more than all the paper I had used up in my entire life.

His fingers worked at the zipper then, it came off with a little _hiss_, and I tried to think of zippers, their origin, their history, and their use, as the button came undone and he pushed the trousers lower over my hips. I flinched away from him when he grasped my dick.

“Lamb?” again that lost, hurt voice. 

I tried not to flinch at the tone of his voice, and let him drag me closer to him. He set an arm against the bed and rose, hovering over me, his face inches from mine.

“I want you,” he murmured.

I wanted to point out that it wasn’t me—that it was Izaac, his husband. The man he clearly adored. I was but a plaything—entertainment. But I didn’t. Instead, I held my tongue and looked away from him. He did not protest, but he pushed himself forward, tilting my head so he could crush his lips to mine.

_Another kiss._ I predicted this would be a long night.

As he kissed me, his hand wandered lower once more. This time, he pushed the trousers down to my knees.

“Turn around,” he said, accentuating the words with another peck on my lips.

I hesitated, but in the end, did as he asked, trying not to touch him as I slid from my back to my chest. Tentatively, I reached for a pillow as I heard the sound of his belt’s buckle becoming undone, the hiss of a zipper.

I closed my eyes.

This would be a long night.


	13. Rope Games

Markus didn’t like cemeteries.

Too dreary, too hot, and nowhere to take a comfortable nap in. If he leaned against one of the tombs to rest, people would shoot him odd looks, which he normally ignored, but sometimes someone would hiss and spit on him, and it was hard to disregard people then. He didn’t really get it though—the dead certainly didn’t mind.

“Why are we here?” his voice floated up and was snatched away by the wind, and the sound of Apep crunching fallen leaves under his shoes and becoming incredibly distracted by them.

Apep did not immediately reply, he continued to stomp on leaves for a few moments before, without looking up, he said:

“We’re strangling someone to get us to my home,” he hummed.

“There’s only me here though,” and he wasn’t told of these Terms of Service when he agreed to the trip. In fact, he remembered strictly reminding Apep that he did not like dead bodies.

“Oh, I know,” Apep said to the leaves, “that’s why we’re digging up a grave.”

“That’s a stupid loophole,” I heard myself say.

“Well, I’m the king so I do what I want.”

Some solid logic right there. I still did not like dead people. I did not want to dig up graves. Not that I thought it mattered.

“If you’re the king, why don’t you just get us right over there?”

He turned around to look at me, pouting. “But what’s the fun in that?”

What indeed.


	14. Whore Cocktail

“There’s blood,” Apep sounded both fascinated and alarmed.

“You bit me,” I growled.

“But I didn’t taste blood,” and before I could protest, he brought my arms to his lips and sucked at the half-moon mark.

I sighed, “Good enough?”

Apep wrinkled his nose, pulling away from my arm, lips stained with trickles of red. “You taste odd.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, really,” Apep insisted, raising my wounded arm over his head, “I don’t think I’ve tasted something like this before.”

Excellent.

“It’s whore cocktail—you can pick it up at the redlight—now can you let go of my arm?” I did not bother pulling at the limb—I already knew from experience that Apep’s grip was like vice.

“I don’t think it’s that—it’s something else It’s kinda like, like—”

“Gay whore—_tired_ gay whore. Can you let me go?”

Finally, he released me, his green eyes wide and excited. “Can I have more?”

“No.”


	15. Cats

Izaac was not one to be easily swayed; even when it was his husband using all his charms to slither Izaac from behind his desk and right to the comforting circles of his arms. Izaac had been tempted to consent, after all, it wasn’t exactly easy to resist that crooked smile and those bright green eyes of his, but in the end, he had always dismissed him.

“I promise you’ll like this,” Apep urged, tugging at Izaac’s sleeve with a mischievous grin.

Izaac had rolled his eyes and continued working, but Apep insisted, with kisses and words, he finally managed to get Izaac to his feet. He followed Apep, knowing full well Apep would not bother him unless there was a good reason, struggling to summon up the figures in his head so he could resume with his work as soon as Apep was satisfied.

The room Apep led him to was large and spacious; with room enough for a few hooks on the walls, and equipment stained with old blood carefully aligned. It was familiar to Izaac, so much so that he instinctually took a step forward, shoulder to shoulder to Apep, glancing curiously about his surroundings.

In the half-darkness, he could make out figures in the middle of the room, but nothing more. He blinked, trying to allow his eyes to adapt to the darkness, before Apep seemed to notice the problem. He placed a quick peck on Izaac’s lips, and his fingers unwound from Izaac’s hand. There was the sound of footsteps as he stepped away, searching for the light switch so Izaac could better see his prize.

The artificial lighting was built in so the cast light was soft and natural; so that the colors wouldn’t be bleached and everything stood stark, grisly, and _real_. Above all, Izaac had wanted it to look natural—he was convinced it had been a good decision.

So when the lights finally came on, he had to blink in disbelief.

Three young men sat up in the middle of the room, atop a plush dark carpet. Their knees were tucked under them, hands tied behind their backs, with restraints to hold them straighter together. 

On the left side was a dark-skinned, wavy-haired youth. Tied around his throat, and twisted so it hung behind his head was a large pink bow. The blindfold that covered his eyes was an identical matching color. He sat back hunched in on himself; dejected—Izaac thought that if he checked his wrists he’d see the place where the skin had been rubbed raw and bloody.

On the right side, the young man sported a cheerier attitude, he tilted his head curiously at the sound of Apep’s footsteps, and his back was straight. His skin was as dark as teak, and his hair a black mop atop his head. He sported a sky-blue bow and blindfold on the fashion of the left youth.

The middle one sat back in stark contrast against the other two. His skin was pale, his head hung low over his shoulders. Izaac noticed his head had been combed and washed—odd. Had Damien had a hand in this? Around his throat was a delicate soft yellow bow, with a matching blindfold. He did not stir upon hearing any of them.

Upon Apep’s urgings, Izaac drew nearer to them, his eyes scanning the three young men for anything that would give a hint or clue about their thoughts. One was here against his will—maybe two, if Markus was counted—the other had been lied to. Izaac was positive as to that.

As soon as he stood three feet away from them, Izaac could understand why Apep had urged him closer. From the top of the youth’s heads, sprouted triangle cat ears, barely poking out from under their hair. The left side one had dark brown ears, pinched and annoyed. The right one’s were pricked and upright, the same deep black of his hair. Markus’ were pinned back, flattened against his skull in a display of annoyance.

“Do they work?” he asked Apep, wonder in his voice. A hand darted forward, grasping Markus’ chin to tilt his head upwards. Markus stiffened under his touch, but did not protest. As Izaac tilted his head up, the ears twitched, flashing forward before Markus pinched them back. The bell at his throat jingled as Markus moved.

Apep grinned at him.

But how?” Izaac asked him, already feeling his thoughts racing.

Apep’s grin widened, “Why don’t you test them out?” and before Izaac could reply he leaned forward to press his lips against Izaac’s.

“Can you cut them?” and before Markus could flinch away, the fingers wrapped around the furry ear and gave it a tug.

Markus hissed, the bell at his throat sent a clear note through the room.

“Why don’t we find out?” Apep hummed, his arms wrapping around Izaac.


	16. Excited Kittens

Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t every day that I woke up to a grinning Apep floating before my eyes holding a surprising amount of ropes and bows. You’d think so, but really, it wasn’t all that common. Usually they were snakes instead of ropes, and knives instead of bows.

So to say he caught me by surprise was a bit of an understatement.

When he chattered something about a surprise for Izaac I immediately knew I wouldn’t like it.

And I was completely and utterly right. It was almost too bad I couldn’t rub it in anyone’s face. A little bit of bragging might have helped distract me. As it was, I could barely talk. Three letters—starts with ‘g’. You have one guess—

Or not. It’s a gag. I was tired of opening my mouth to swallow threads. I had tried to chew through it, but although Apep had been so, let us say, _charitable_ as to give me a cat’s ears, senses, and balance, he had forgotten to give me the teeth.

There would be no chewing through this gag.

Had I forgotten to mention there was a blindfold over my eyes and my arms were tired over my head? Silly me. I may have also forgotten to mention I was tied to a bed, and was lying naked on it.

But that wasn’t anything new.

What was new was hearing little hisses and _meows_ instead of moans or yelps of pain. At least I wasn’t taking part in those. Not yet anyway. Apep and Izaac seemed to be distracted with the other two. I tried not to think about it too much, though I could smell the blood. The sickly sweet scents stuck to my nostrils and, oddly enough, made my mouth water.

I sure hoped I didn’t start eating mice because of this.

Almost as if my thoughts had summoned them, I heard footsteps heading in my direction. Immediately I pinned my ears back and tried to turn my face away, but it was only to be stopped by a firm hand covered in some sticky substance—

Don’t think about it.

Though, honestly it could be anything, but I really couldn’t see Izaac—

_Don’t_.

“He needs a tail,” Izaac’s voice may be wreathed of pearls and diamonds, enchanting and sweet, but it took much more than a pretty voice for me to ignore his words.

I tried to protest, but, of course, gags.

“Aren’t you going to try him out first?”

That was Apep. Sounding stupidly joyful as he did whenever Izaac was around.

I swear, these two. If they didn’t have me tied I’d have gagged. Except, I _was_ gagged.

Warm sticky fingers ran up my thigh, and I felt an involuntary shiver shoot up my spine.

“He’ll scratch me,” Izaac sounded amused.

I wanted to point out that I would if they’d just untied me, but _oh yeah_, that’s right—gag.

“He won’t,” Apep chuckled, and words were interrupted by the wet smacking sound of kissing. I amused myself by trying to make farting noises through the gag. It didn’t work out all that great.

Apep’s hands caressed my thighs again, lightly tracing his fingertips over the skin, and the sensation made goose bumps rise on my flesh. I tried to writhe away, but a hand stopped me—Izaac’s or Apep’s—I couldn’t tell. 

There were some brief words exchanged in a language I didn’t know, and there was suddenly pressure on my waist. Someone placed kisses on my thighs and abdomen, and each one felt impossibly hot. I tried to shake him off, but he was insistent, his hands pressing against my skin, his mouth floating dangerously low to my hips.

I whined—muffled by the gag as it was, trying to turn my face away from them both as if that would help. The mouth hesitated over my skin, then continued its slow circuit upwards.

Heat spilled to my abdomen and I felt my traitorous body responding. I wasn’t sure what the hell they were doing to me, but it was obviously not the usual thing. Did the gag have drug residue on it? Shit. I knew I shouldn’t have chewed it. OK, so not really, but this was _Izaac._ I should’ve known.

Regardless, when both Apep and Izaac started touching me, it felt surprisingly good. I tried moving my hips to rub myself against either, but Apep shied away with a giggle, and Izaac quiet pointedly ignored my little humping urge here. I wish I could summon hairballs at will.

Izaac grunted, a soft moan spilling from his lips, and it wasn’t all that hard to picture them balanced precariously on top of me, Apep’s mouth working its odd unhinging charms on Izaac’s—

And for some reason that just got me more upset. They had enough time to go and pleasure each other, but the one time my dick was as erect as a flagpole, I was left waving it around hoping something would land on it.

_SOS. Flagpole needs land mass so a flag may sit on its head._

That sounded like a dreadful ad.

If they hadn’t gagged me I’d try telling them off, but, of course, _gagged_. So instead I tried whining into the gag.

One of them seemed to notice my upset wiggling because strong hands wrapped around my hips, lifting my ass from the bed sheets.

“Who first?”

I wanted to remind them both that lube existed for a reason, and that _neither_ would go first because my ass simply was not prepared for it, but I just ended up mumbling against my gag. I think being a cat impaired my senses. That would explain why my libido was suddenly acting up. Poor thing was as confused and lost as I was.

Some awkward fumbling later, and there were fingers up my ass. Somehow, I didn’t think they were using conventional lube. Especially when there was something like sounded like moans of pain coming from my left. Especially not when there was a sudden jarring scream followed by a sound like popping castanets on a particularly painful tango—that, and the sudden sound of liquid gushing and dripping, followed by a grunt and more screaming. I had to wonder how bad of a dancer Apep was. Izaac was strong, but I don’t think he could rip a man in two—

Stop. Thinking. Markus.

_Sorry big daddy M._

Thank you.

By this point I couldn’t decide if I was more annoyed or horny.

Then Izaac whispered something Russian and warm in my ear, wrapped his hand around my dick and started pumping it, and I forgot all about being annoyed. Izaac’s voice did work wonders on your muscles.

I tried thrusting against Izaac’s fist—eager for the feeling of his warm hand around me, but it was only to be held back. The hand snatched away, I tried to whimper again only to stop when I felt Izaac’s lips at my ear.

“Don’t move,” it sounded like a warning.

I tried to summon up the hair balls. Maybe if I inhaled deeply enough, I’d swallow the gag.

A hand wrapped around me before I could protest again, giving eager little tugs that made soft groans spill from my lips. When I felt something poking at my butt, I eagerly lifted my hips to allow it entry. Izaac—yes, I was sure it was Izaac—pushed inside, grasping my hips with almost bruising force. Somehow, that just made my dick throb all the more. 

Confused. It was confused.

Izaac thrust fast and hard, tearing moans from my lips that were caught by the gag and bounced back to my throat. He moved against me, and I struggled to try to rub myself against whatever flesh I could score against his abdomen. When he paused, it was only to kiss Apep, sitting up somewhere by my side, presumably with his hand between his legs. 

Of course, I started whining whenever he stopped.

Apep’s hand wrapped around my length, and he leaned over to press his lips against the gag. He kissed it, and I tried to respond as best I could—anything so his hand kept moving—when my lips were bound in fabric, and it was only to realize that the fabric had been shredded away. Eagerly, Apep placed his lips against my bottom lip and I smelled something odd and sickly sweet. My mouth felt numb, and for a minute I feared Apep’s acid would eat through my fabric and right through my face (my beautiful unmarred face—hey, I got money from that), but the sensation returned to my lips as soon as Apep’s floated away, tracing little licks and nips along my throat.

Izaac thrust hard and fast again, and this time, a loud and embarrassing moan slipped from my lips unperturbed. That seemed to give Izaac pause, but it was only long enough to repeat the same roll of his hips and watch me twitch in pleasure.

_Look at me, Richie! I’m a real <strike>boy</strike> whore now!_

I was definitely high. Not that the knowledge made the moans any less, or my desperation for some_thing_ to rub against my dick lessen.

Izaac gave a few more rolling thrusts against my hips, and he grunted. This time, his thrusts were sloppy and hurried, and I hoped I would have my own orgasm before his own, which would not happen with my flagpole unflagged, seeing as Apep had stopped to presumably enjoy the view of sweaty Izaac. And I was right, it didn’t. Izaac was pulling back and I was still ready and raring to go.

“I thought cat dicks had spines” that was Izaac’s voice.

I felt myself stiffen. No, not my—ah, just forget it.

“Maybe,” Apep sounded amused. There was some more kissing, this time with extra wet noises that might not be able to be attributed completely to kissing. When they parted, Apep sounded short of breath, “Maybe it depends on species?”

“I don’t think it does,” Izaac hummed. I hoped they weren’t talking about my dick anymore.

I opened my mouth to speak, only to feel toes wiggling around on my face. Sometimes I forgot Apep was a seer.

There was the shifting of weight over the bed, and I felt someone next to me, followed with more gag-worthy kissing. At least I didn’t have to look, and I wasn’t wearing a gag anymore. Maybe I could try for that hairball now—

Hand to the face, fingers sticking to the inside of my mouth nearly making me gag. I was starting to get annoyed by Apep. Maybe that meant I _could_ puke out hairballs.

Hey, wait a minute, those fingers tasted a bit weird, and he was in the process of lubing up Iza—

_Eww._

I tried not to think about Izaac’s ass, but it was pretty damn hard at that moment. Not to mention the sound of the two of them fucking, Apep and Izaac grunting, didn’t exactly help to distract me. The bed creaked under their thrusts, and the moans escalated until they melded into each other. At least two of us were enjoying themselves.

“I want to run some tests,” Izaac groaned.

“You’re assuming I can do it,” Apep hummed.

They kissed, the rocking of the bed stopping as suddenly as it started.

“Won’t you try?”

Izaac... asking... nicely? Somehow that didn’t compute. Even if Apep and him were married.

“Of course,” more kissing, a hand suddenly grasped my dick. Deft fingers wrapped around me, giving a few numbered tugs that sent me over the edge. Heat flushed to my abdomen, and a few little moans must have broken through.

And as my muscles pinched together, and Apep’s fingers slipped to my ass, all I could think was—

They _were_ still talking about my dick.


	17. Stay

Sometimes, Apep seemed to forget he was no longer a child—he had grown up into a strapping young man. And quite the ridiculously tall one too.

So when he clambered onto my lap, wrapping his arms over my shoulders and chest, his head over my shoulder, I had to wonder if maybe his brain hadn’t caught up to his body.

“You’re heavy,” I told him, trying to shift in any way that would allow me to slip from his grasp.

“I missed you,” he hummed, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

And that gave me pause. I hadn’t seen Apep in so long it was a simple matter to forget what he had done to me—many times before. In my memory, it felt too distant to matter, or maybe I focused on the small gestures that showed his kindness. In fact, I almost wanted to _forget_ what he had done to me. That would be good too—there was nothing there I _wanted_ to remember.

But, of course, this was Apep. He might look cuddly and happy now, but I knew his mood could change at the drop of a hat. One moment he could be hugging me, the next his fingers would be wrapped around my throat as he tried to choke me. He was not a thread to be easily dismissed either—a powerful demon, and a force to be reckoned with.

Yet, so cuddly right at this very moment.

“Hopefully here to stay,” I said.

He looked up to me with a grin, “I won’t let you leave.”

Somehow, those words didn’t bring up a lot of confidence in me. Suddenly, I wanted to be away rather quickly.


End file.
